Give My Soul A Home
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Elisabeth of Austria remains an enigma. Tormented by her dreams, desperate for freedom and haunted by the dark angel of her childhood. But why did a seemingly insignificant young girl draw the gaze, and capture the heart, of the Black Prince himself, and what did it mean for the world?
1. This Old Song

Give My Soul A Home

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

There was not much that Death had not witnessed in his long, eternal, existence.

The rise and fall of Empires, the birth and death of countless trillions, each life a story that he was both privileged and cursed to stand vigil through, waiting for his moment. Each life a dance he was bound to step into, flitting in and out like the shadows in which he dwelled. Each a dance he knew the steps to, each a memory more ingrained within him than his own existence, each a paragraph in a chapter within a story that would never end.

Most he barely gave much thought to, after they had passed on and reached their final place. Some he remembered with something akin to fondness in his cold heart, but the ebb and flow of human mortality generally touched him little. His duty, his purpose, was ultimately to await the ebb, to be there at its end, the final guardian of humanity's last moments. He had been created to be cold, as icy as the colour his human form's eyes took. He was not created to love.

Nor was he created to question his duty. For so many millennia, he never came close to doing so. For all his great power, he did not hold complete knowledge of the future, of the times to come. Such divinity was not for one such as him, but a higher authority even than Death.

He did not question it, he did not dispute it. Such mutinous actions did not exist in his nature. Yet he existed, secure in his own power and arrogance, comforted and bolstered by one single truth. He was Death and death was inevitable. He awaited them all, the warriors, the innocents, the women taken in the very act of giving life, the foolish old men who sought so desperately for some means to prolong their lives; none escaped his loving embrace. He was forever and eternal, inescapable.

For long millennia, he had observed the human race. Beneath his coldness, he would admit he found them oddly fascinating. Their petty wars, their grand passions, their destructive tantrums, he witnessed from afar, unseen and unheard, except by a very few extraordinary individuals. There had not been many.

He himself felt no such passion, no such fire within him. He did his duties without passion, without zeal, merely the cold thoroughness of duty ingrained in his very being. When he observed a pair of lovers, caught in their own embrace, their souls flying so very close to his embrace in that tumultuous feeling the French called _'la petit mort'_, he had no doubt that any such convulsion of passion would shake his being so.

He did not contemplate the idea of loneliness. The silent presence of his followers, his servants who fulfilled the same duty, bowing only to him, barely impinged on his consciousness. There was only his purpose, his reason for being. There was no room for desire, for loneliness, for the selfish need for companionship that he had long been denied. He hadn't cared, for so long.

* * *

And so he was unprepared when he felt her coming. With a jolt like the strike of a thunderbolt, or the cold shock of a wave of cold water, he felt her birth, her soul crying out in supplication even though she knew not what she cried for.

It called to him, as few souls ever had. He had seen many souls desiring the loving oblivion of Death, throwing themselves into his arms without a qualm but none so powerfully as she. He always answered their call.

With a shudder, he let himself be pulled to her side, to the soul that called for him. He strode from the shadows of his realm, and into the bright sunshine of the mortal world. He stood in a large, airy room, a nursery he recognised, as a newborn baby lay, fitful and fidgeting, in her cradle. The nurse sat by her side, fast asleep and snoring in her rocking chair, her matronly bosom rising and falling rhythmically, apparently utterly oblivious to the angry cries of the babe in the cradle.

Ignoring the nurse, he strode to the bed and peered within, curious despite himself. As connected with Life as he was with its end, he had not felt such a shudder in a long time. He knew what it augured and with the sense gifted to him, he could feel the world that would be shaped around this child, this girl who looked back at him with fierce, proud eyes. Even in their infancy, he glimpsed the prideful spirit, the stubborn flame of her will, at odds with her desire for freedom. He could almost see her in his mind; see who she would become and the world she would create, the world she was destined to shape.

And he knew it would not be allowed. Looking down on the child, pale and with a slight growth of fair hair atop her dainty head, tiny fists waving in unknowing rage at the world, he felt that shudder again, rippling through the fabric of his being.

He had come across very few in his existence. Such beings as this little one were rare and singular, dying as any human must, but their great and terrible destinies passed on to another, and another, until the End of Days.

Children of Lilith, they were called by the few who possessed the skill and knowledge to recognise them. While much knowledge and truth had been warped or forgotten in humanity's arrogance and ignorance, many would have called them demons upon hearing the name. Death knew they were only too human, but their paths, their destinies held the same power as their most distant ancestress. And just like their ancestress, they held the same path, the same destiny. Upheaval, chaos and darkness.

As he met the child's eyes, he sighed. She could see him and her cries quietened as she looked to him curiously, an endearing shyness making her bashful as she shrank back into her cradle. He found himself drawn despite himself, her meekness so at war with the proud spirit within her. He was entranced, even as he knew he should not be.

Just as he knew what she was, he knew her fate. The world she would create would be one that was not permitted. All too soon, he would be summoned back to her side, to fulfil his duty.

Suddenly, he was pulled from his thoughts as a tiny but strong little hand latched onto his finger. He jolted as he stared down at the little girl, holding his finger with an infant strength, seemingly uncaring of the chill of his touch, who eyed him now defiantly, no fear in her eyes yet Death sensed she knew him. Without consciousness, she knew him and she did not fear him.

If he had a heart, he might have theorised it would be beating wildly at that moment, as he looked into the innocent eyes of a babe and saw his own destiny staring back at him. His own fate, his reward for millennia of loyalty, his own path to paradise.

Once again the vision of her arose in his mind, tall and terrible, entrancing in her meek beauty that contradicted the iron will of the spirit contained within.

He heard noise outside, in the corridor, the girl's mother coming to visit her child as the nurse awoke with a start and the child let his finger go abruptly. Wreathing himself in shadow, he watched the young mother fuss over the child, a whole brood crowding around her skirts as she introduced them to their new sister.

_Elisabeth. Elisabeth…_

A slight smile quirked on Death's pale features, unknowingly. The last Child of Lilith had been an Elisabeth too. How fitting that the next would be too.

A strong name. A proud name, just like its bearer. He could feel it resonating in his mind, like a lullaby, or a war cry, or both at once. She would grow into it, with time, or she would have done.

The smile faded as he regarded the happy family scene for a moment longer, from his shadows, and he felt once again the meek but proud gaze of the infant Elisabeth on his features.

The realisation that he had wavered, even if only for a moment, hardened him as he hid himself from her sight, retreating into his shadowy realm, safe from her knowing gaze. With a shock not unlike the one he'd felt upon sensing her birth, he realised that emotion was flowing through him for the first time. Gone was the coldness his duty inspired, the detached ruthlessness that had once given him strength. He was drowning in the dark, haunted by the gaze of an infant girl, as pride and anger filled him.

It changed nothing. No matter what draw he felt to the child, or rather to the woman he sensed she would become, it changed nothing. He would still do his duty.

A cold smile replaced the turmoil of emotion, as he closed his eyes. _I will come for you too, little Elisabeth. One day soon, I will come for you and nothing can change that._

* * *

_To be continued..._

**A/N: So this is my take on the Elisabeth legend. Several little headcanons which evolved while immersing myself in the musical and have since developed into a story. I hope you enjoy these first two chapters but I won't be updating until Christmas now, when I can get my hands on the Brigritte Harmann biography, to weave in as much historical fact with the musical canon as possible.**


	2. The Black Prince

Give My Soul A Home

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

_1__st__ August 1853_

_Possenhofen Castle, Lake Starnberg, Bavaria_

Sisi was a rebellious child. Everyone said so, her mother, her brothers and sisters, Nene especially, her dearest father, her governess. She liked hearing it from Father the best; he always praised her for her spirit.

There was nothing Sisi liked better than to ride her horse across the fields around Lake Starnberg, or play hide and seek in the meadow behind the castle. She could always outrun her brothers, every time, if they managed to find her at all. Lessons bored her to tears. Only tutors could reduce such glorious tales as the Battle of Waterloo to a boring list of dates and troop configurations. And that was just the boys' lessons! The few Sisi did not manage to skip, that she shared with her sisters, were even worse.

Even as a young girl, Sisi knew she was being groomed for some high marriage. Not so high as Nene, no she was not pretty or bright enough to be considered a suitable wife for an Emperor, but still she would be married and married well. If her mother could succeed in taming her.

Sisi cared not a fig for any of her mother's plans. She didn't understand why Nene's future should be considered so enviable, nor why she should emulate her eldest sister's manner and conduct. She just wanted to be what she was! She just wanted to be free!

Such as that evening's party. Mother had called together all their family for some great announcement. Sisi hated the very thought of a party. All it would mean was endless fuss over Nene and insufferable comparisons between her graceful, elegant and demure elder sister and Sisi. She could practically hear them all now.

She'd begged to be excused but Mother and the governess had insisted she attend. When she could be doing so much more important things? Like practice on the new balance rope Father had installed in the meadow? Or work on her poetry? Or go for a ride?

She had no idea why Mother even wanted her there anyway. She hated company, the judgemental stares of her uncles and aunts, and she was awful in social gatherings. It was just all so boring! All they talked about was fashion and who was marrying who! And the more interesting conversations between her uncles and her father, when he rarely deigned to attend her mother's gatherings, she was always hurried away from!

She huffed as she ran through the corridors, desperate to outstrip the governess. She had an inkling that Father would try to find some excuse to avoid the party. He almost always did. If she could persuade him to take her too…

* * *

As she'd suspected, as she ducked into the stables, ignoring her governess's exasperated calls of her title, there he knelt, in the hay store, checking through the contents of a small, battered brown suitcase he used for such escapes.

Skidding to a halt, a mischievous smile lit Sisi's face. Careful to walk slowly and quietly on the cobbles of the stable yard, she snuck in to the hay store, creeping up behind him. As soon as she was close enough, she pounced.

He jumped as she closed her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Mama is expecting guests this evening and she's making me go! I hate it so!" she began desperately, as he calmed and pulled her round to face him, a sympathetic look on his face. "All the aunts and uncles are coming! I don't want to go but the governess said I must! Father, can't I come with you?"

"I'm sorry, Sisi, but it's not possible this time," Max sighed, placing a hand on her hair. "It's just a party, and no one will be worrying about you. Think yourself lucky! At least you're not being groomed to be Empress, like poor Nene!" he continued, taking out a small mirror and comb from his suitcase. Sisi eagerly snatched up both, combing his unruly hair back into abeyance.

"No, because I'm like you!" she replied excitedly. "Everything you like, I like even more! Writing poetry, riding like the wind! Why can't I be _**just**_ like you?"

Max laughed as he packed the comb and mirror away again, closing the case tightly and reaching for his coat. "Life is too short to be bored and these gatherings of your mother's…" he shuddered as Sisi laughed. "Worse than the plague!"

"But Father…if I can't come with you, then why can't you tell Mama or the governess I don't have to go! Why can't I climb the cherry tree instead? Or practice on the balance rope? Or play with Max and Karl in the meadow? _**They**_ don't have to go!" she asked, well aware she sounded petulant. But it was just so unfair! That because her brothers were so little, and her father a man, they could then run away while she was forced to stay!

Max sighed, as she clung to his neck, disengaging her hold on him gently. "I'm not getting mixed up in this, Sisi," he told her softly, as he stood and pulled his coat on. He dusted off his hat and slung his case under his arm, reaching across to Sisi and kissing her on the forehead. "I can't help you there. Now be good, Sisi, and goodbye. I must go while your mother is still so distracted with her preparations. Goodbye, be a good girl and I'll be home by tomorrow afternoon."

Sisi sighed despondently as she watched him walk away, desperation rising in her heart. She just wanted to be free! To go where she wanted, when she wanted, like Spain, or Egypt or Kathmandu! To be like the gypsies Father had taken her to see, living free as the wind with just their _zither _under their arm. _Doing what I want, wanting anything I want, just like Father…_

"_Princesse_!"

Sisi groaned, rolling her eyes, as the governess appeared around the corner of the stables, bristling with outrage. "There you are! It is almost time for the party, you must get changed!" Madame Joubert called insistently. "Your mother commands it!"

Sisi drew herself up defiantly, eyes afire. "I _hate_ changing! I _hate_ being a princess! If I weren't a princess, I'd join the circus as…as a rider or an acrobat! I can dance on a rope now!"

An idea began to form in her impetuous young mind, as a wild smile spread across her face, as she eyed her now nervous governess. "Let me show you, Madame!" she said suddenly, dodging her attempt to grab her and dancing around her agilely.

"_S'il vous plait! Venez maintenant!_" the Frenchwoman protested, ineffectually as Sisi ran off, ignoring her governess's angry shouts. She knew how to run through the halls without encountering any of the servants, or worse, her mother, and her much older governess could barely keep her in sight.

* * *

The new balance rope was in the meadow, which the main terrace overlooked. Sisi paused beside it, smiling as the thought grew in her mind. Maybe, if she showed not just Madame but Mama as well, she might excuse her from any more parties! At the very least, they'd be talking about her and not her woeful lack of manners or lack of beauty compared to her sister.

With a determined glint in her eye, she turned to the pole and began to climb. As she did so, she heard the growing shouts of fear and alarm, begging her to get down, or not to go so high. She could hear Mama and Nene's concerned voices as well, as she climbed ever higher. The exhilaration of her defiance pushed her on, ignoring the niggling voice of fear that was growing in her mind, as she climbed higher than she'd gone before, determined to show them all. Her foot slipped on the rung, and she gasped, the spike of fear in her blood breaking through at last, as she swallowed hard, staring down at the ground. But she couldn't turn back now.

With an effort for her young arms, she pulled herself up onto the platform, balancing as best she could. The shouts turned to screams but she barely heard them, only the cry of the birds above her in the sky and the warmth of the sun as it hastened to its setting. She laughed, throwing her arms out wide, taking an unwary step forward…

She fell.

* * *

Death watched from the shadows, as always, as the young girl had climbed to the balancing rope, had paused, frozen not by fear but by the feel of her own life as she held it in her hands, hers to throw away if she so wished. Oh, she didn't know truly what she'd felt but he could. Her call was as strong now as it had been, fifteen years before when he had seen her as a baby.

She had grown into a beautiful girl, but a child still nonetheless. Her impetuous, fierce spirit still clung to her, not chained and shackled as her elder siblings were, as her mother's was.

He could still see the world around her, ready to bend or break within the next moment. Now was the moment, now was the moment when her life would be cut short, her own impetuosity her executioner. It was a cold, unfailing method of execution, using her own free will to sign her death sentence. He could almost applaud the icy precision of it all, if it weren't for the growing pull he was experiencing. Pulling him towards her. For the first time, rebellion grew within him, whispering treason against himself, his duty, his very existence.

He tensed where he stood in the shadows. This had to be, he could do nothing, he was Death and he spared no one. It was her time…

He watched her teeter, watched as her foot slipped on the rope and she fell, almost gliding through the air like a bird whose wings were clipped. The group on the terrace all rushed to her side but he was faster. None saw him for what he was, and later, a young male relative would remember carrying Sisi to her bed.

But it was Death who pulled her up into his arms, lighter than a feather. He could sense her injuries, not immediately fatal but capable of taking her young life. He knew it was meant to be, that his duty was now to press his lips to hers and kiss away her life.

But as he looked down at the girl-child in his arms, unconsciously clinging to him, her breath shallow and pained, he felt once more that surge of rebellion. He saw again, as he carried her to her bedchamber, the woman she would become, the terrible beauty who would bring chaos and darkness to the world, the sheer stubbornness of her will shining in her fierce eyes.

* * *

Suddenly they opened and he felt that inner rebellion grow and take a hold of him with a strength he didn't know he possessed. Because she saw him, she _**saw **_him and she _**knew **_him, and she was not afraid.

* * *

He should do it now. He should kiss her while she was acquiescent and weak in his arms, while her spirit slumbered and she would be willing. He knew, instinctively, that her spirit and her desire for freedom would always war within her, giving her no peace. If anything, he would save her misery if he took her now…

But he did not, entranced by the trusting, knowing gaze of her eyes as he carried her to her bed. Her family flocked around him, begging her to speak to them, pawing at her. He found himself irritated, annoyed by their cloying concern, when he just wanted her attention on him, unnerving though it was.

Finally he set her down, nestling her into the pillows on her bed, as she gazed up at him, a wondering smile on her mouth. Rather than duty now, it was the temptation and the desire for who she would become that almost had him pressing his lips to hers. He broke away with a gentle smile, wordlessly reassuring her as he began to walk away, inwardly stunned by his act of rebellion, and unnerved by her fearlessness. Just as she had when an infant, she had entranced him and he shuddered as he felt the world around him ripple with the ramifications of his act. What had he done?

The moment was gone. He could not take her life now, the moment had passed by. She would survive. There would be other times, other moments, but he suddenly doubted he would be any stronger on those occasions than he was now.

Abruptly he felt a cold, strong little hand close around his. He whipped around, stunned, as he realised Sisi held his hand so tightly, her eyes shining. "Where are you going, Black Prince?" she asked, weakly. "Why don't you stay here?"

He watched as the mother fussed around her, the sister stroking her cheek concernedly. "She's feverish, Mama," she breathed. Sisi continued, uncaring of their concern, as they tried and failed to push her down onto her bed. He gently pulled his hand free but could not bring himself to walk away.

"I felt…safe and comfortable in your arms," she breathed. "I felt it, a longing to let go and be free. Like a black bird, proud and alone. I know who you are!"

He started at that, drawn anew by the wild light in her eyes, not quite sane but rather untamed, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He came closer, despite himself, as she smiled at him.

"And who am I, little princess?" he asked, his breath coming short.

"Death," she pronounced firmly. "And all are afraid of you. But I'm not!"

"She's hallucinating!" Ludovika interjected, her eyes on her daughter. "Call the doctor!"

"It's alright now, Sisi," Helena murmured. "Just rest."

Sisi continued regardless, but he could stand it no longer. He had to leave her unnerving presence, before he did something foolish. Her next words, however, drew him up short and he stopped, looking back at her, his very being shaking.

"I think of you, I've thought of you before. I always will," she vowed earnestly. "Dreaming, writing poetry or riding like the wind…no one understands me like you do…"

"She's talking like Father," her brother pronounced incredulously. Ludovika snapped at him to fetch a doctor once more, but Death stood still and held the gaze of the girl-child was held his being captive.

"Don't leave me," she breathed, as she forced to lie back by her solicitous relatives.

"I will not," he replied, suddenly, feeling like the very words had been wrung from his throat. "I will never leave you from this day, Elisabeth. Sisi…"

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
